


The Last Great Secret of Hogwarts

by puckity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Handjobs & Blowjobs, M/M, Secret Passages, Twincest, Yule Ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-06
Updated: 2005-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1900509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puckity/pseuds/puckity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone knows the twins’ secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Great Secret of Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> Set on the night of the Yule Ball in GoF.
> 
> Written in 2005. Beta’d by my old editing triad: Amber, Emmy, and Rachel.
> 
> You can also follow me on [Tumblr](http://puckity.tumblr.com/).

****"It’s not fair.” Ron stared bitterly into the sputtering flames of the Gryffindor common room fireplace. “It’s not fair at all.”

He was wallowing in a rather large bout of self-pity, and Harry and Hermione were letting him do it. Rather, Harry was letting him do it because he was indulging in similar fit of self-persecution and that left Hermione with little choice but to watch them both in a silent disgust. She had known both of them long enough to understand the futility of stating the fact that they were being silly and childish. It was all too obvious that such a contribution to the conversation from her would only lead to another prolonged rant about the agonizing injustices of the world. She seemed to have concluded that non-verbal protest was the way to go.

“I mean, it wasn’t like I was terrible to her or anything. But the way she carries on…” Ron threw up his hands in defeat. “I can’t walk out of the dormitory without some girl looking at me like I killed a unicorn or something.”

“At least your date wasn’t in Gryffindor. Every time I see Pavarti she looks like she’s imagining a very painful situation I should be in.” Harry’s eyes darted frantically around the room, making sure that Pavarti or one of her gossiping companions had not heard him.

“Women, mate.” Ron gazed emphatically at Harry, as if these two words spoke a great and universal truth.

“Honestly!” Hermione, who’d been listening to the same complaints for close to an hour, appeared to have finally had enough. “If you were just going to leave Pavarti and Padma at the Yule Ball then it is your own fault for asking them in the first place! You’re acting like someone played a rotten joke on you. I understand that it must be… _trying_ …to have most of the fourth year female population ready to have at you, but could we please find something—anything—else to talk about!” Ron and Harry were staring at her as if she had just wrenched the knife from their backs.

“Well y-you are certainly...I don’t know how you can sit there and talk like that w-when you and…and _Krum_ …” Ron was either too shocked or too upset to make his point. Harry seized this opportunity to steer the argument out of increasingly dangerous waters.

“Hermione, it isn’t like we particularly _wanted_ to ask anyone. McGonagall said I had to, and, well, Ron couldn’t very well show up alone…with everyone else paired off…” Ron shot Harry a dirty look for what he’d clearly seen as an insult.

“I know, I know.” Hermione sat back with a huff. “It’s just you keep going on about it. Ever since the Yule Ball all I’ve heard is ‘dates this’ and ‘girls that’. It is starting to get a bit much. I mean,” She eyed Harry suspiciously. “Don’t you have a task to be preparing for? Have you figured out the egg yet?”

Harry was casting about for anything to get the subject off the egg he had not yet solved when Ron seemed to recover his voice once more.

“We wouldn’t have just asked anyone if it weren’t for them!” Ron pointed directly across the room at two ginger heads crouching and muttering to each other over some piece of parchment. The fact that they didn’t show the slightest hint of noticing Ron seemed to make the tips of his ears burn a fierce shade of maroon. “They told us it was no problem, a snap! I mean, Fred just asked Angelina right in front of Harry and I like he was ordering more pumpkin juice!” This appeared to be the supreme indignation for Ron, who sat for a moment and positively boiled with fury.

“They didn’t even seem to **care**!” Harry and Hermione, who had turned away slowly in hopes of shifting the conversation away from this issue entirely, jumped in their chairs at Ron’s outburst. “Why don’t they care!?”

In the pause during which Harry and Hermione tried to think up an adequate response, another ginger head shifted a few chairs back. From behind the book that she had not been reading as she listened to her brother rant and rave, Ginny glanced between the ginger hair that was set aflame by the flickering fireplace and the ginger hair that was turning a dull shade of yellow as the moonlight from the tower windows washed over it. She looked from brother to brother to brother and a small smile crept into her eyes; she thought of how she had outsmarted them all.

She knew something more than them.

Harry was talking now, in faster tones, about his egg and a pool—or a bath—or some pit of water somewhere. Ron still looked determined to blame as many of his problems as he could on his older brothers. But Ginny was thinking back to that day, almost exactly a month ago. It had been earlier than evening; the sun was still stubbornly resisting its compulsion to set. And she had been somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

\---

When word got out that Ginny was going to the Yule Ball with Neville Longbottom, she found herself suddenly becoming the center of speculation among third and fourth year girls, and not in a pleasant sort of way. With the state of things as such, Ginny had decided that the best course of action was to remove herself from the girls’ dormitory entirely—for as long a collective period of time as was possible. All these girls could seem to talk about was why on earth Ginny had said yes to Neville. Had she been that desperate for a date? Or did she—Merlin forbid!—actually like him?

Poor Neville. She refused to answer most of the crueler questions, but she knew that he was hearing about her interrogations nonetheless. He had actually approached her with an air of despondency and asked if she would rather not go with him after all. He’d said that he understood if she didn’t want to go, that he wouldn’t hold it against her. For a moment she honestly considered it, but seeing that most of the people around them had stopped to hear her answer—many with malicious smirks on their faces—she knew she couldn’t go through with it. Because Neville was sweet and kind, if not a bit clumsy and always on the edge of terrified. And she liked him well enough. But after she assured him that she still wanted to be his date, the speculations swelled to an unbearable degree. So she spent the majority of her spare time the week before the Ball anywhere but Gryffindor tower.

This day she knew she would have to return sooner rather than later. She had managed to set out her Ball robes before supper, but she still had to go and change. And figure out something to do with her hair. She wondered idly whether Ron would have a fit if she came to the Ball in makeup.

Ginny spent most of the waning daylight hours walking across the grounds. She had seen Hagrid, who asked her if she was excited about her first Yule Ball. She had seen Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown, both of whom were watching her suspiciously as she circled as far around them as possible. Knowing that Harry had only asked Pavarti because there was no one else left, knowing that he would have asked _Ginny herself_ before Pavarti, was the only bit of triumph she felt.

She had also seen that horsy looking girl from Slytherin—Ginny thought her name was Pansy—clinging to every word coming out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy was flanked, as per usual, by his trollish goons and was looking pleased with himself at being the center of attention. He had spotted her out of the corner of his eye and began an overly loud barrage of insults aimed at her family. Ginny didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting to it because—unlike her brothers—she had learned to control herself. And because, at that exact moment, Harry and Ron came into sight at the top of the hill. Ginny looked at Malfoy just long enough to see something like nervous excitement cross his sharp features before being masked by a cool sneer.

Ginny took a hard turn towards the castle to avoid being caught in the inevitable fight that would come when those three boys crossed paths. Somewhere behind her she heard Ron shout, “Oi! Take that back, you Slytherin bastard!” and fought to suppress a giggle. Ginny wondered if Harry had ever considered the possibility of asking Malfoy to the Ball instead of Pavarti. She guessed that both of them would prove to be equally horrific dates, but at least with Malfoy Ginny would have the added enjoyment of watching him provoke Ron all night.

As she rounded on the castle she paused, attempting to convince the passing group of second years that she was admiring one of the turrets. When they were out of sight she dashed around the corner and made her way to a narrow archway hidden behind centuries of plant growth. Checking once more to make sure that she had not been seen, Ginny parted the hanging vines and stepped into a musty, shadowed passageway. She had a bit longer to spare; why not have one last adventure?

\---

After several turns in the dark, the passageway became flooded with a dull yellow light owing to the sudden appearance of torches on the walls. Ginny knew this place. She had been terrified the first time she came here. It was over two years ago now, and that day she hadn’t had the slightest idea of how she had come to be in this tunnel. She recalled going to the library for some peace and quiet with her diary, and then she opened her eyes and found herself lying face down on a dank dirt floor. There was a dull pain in her wrist, which had been bent at an odd angle while she lay unconscious on the floor, and the space around her was nothing more than blackness.

Without a second thought—only with the determination that absolute terror gives people—she ran blindly, trying to escape from the strange sense of evil that filled this place. When she saw the golden light, which had seemed then to be brighter than the sun itself, she stumbled forward and felt a wonderful surge of freedom and safety. She paused to catch her breath and examine any possible injuries. Other than some dirt and a tiny scratch on her cheek everything appeared to be in order. She strode into the light with an overwhelming sense of relief—so much so that she did not fully comprehend where she was going—and she reached a door that she felt sure lead to the castle. She opened it with such force that the people beyond it jumped like frightened house-elves. At first she didn’t understand what she was looking at, but then with a dawning sense of incredulity it finally registered. She did—at least—have the decency to look shocked and embarrassed.

Her older brother Percy had pushed away what appeared to be an utterly flabbergasted girl, in a feeble attempt at convincing Ginny she had not seen what she knew she had seen. His face, which usually looked rather blustery, was now draining of color. His mouth, which had just been making a rather humorous go at snogging that girl, was now opening and closing without any sort of muscle activity. Ginny thought he looked rather like a fish.

“Um, well, thanks much for the tutoring then, Percy.” The girl was now making erratic movements, clearly mortified. “I’ll, um, I’ll be…be seeing you then.” With that she raced out of the classroom as if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was after her himself.

Percy stared dumbly out the open doorway for a few moments, then rounded on Ginny.

“What you have just seen…here…that is to say…what me and, and Penelope were…were doing…” Percy was making his usual attempt at sounding official, and failing completely. “This, this is a _private_ matter…between two adults…” At this Ginny finally had to laugh. The thought of Percy explaining it like she had walked in on him and this Penelope girl shagging on top of the teacher’s desk was too much.

“W-what is this now?!” Poor Percy looked absolutely livid that Ginny had the gall to laugh at him in his present situation. “See here, you may be my sister and all, but I will not hesitate to report you to Professor Dumbledore. What were you doing out here at this time of night?”

At this, Ginny stopped laughing and went rigid. She had no answer for that question. This sort of thing had happened before, only she had ended up near some second floor girls’ bathroom. She wasn’t dim enough to believe that Percy wouldn’t turn her in.

“I-I’m sorry.” Ginny could hear her voice quiver. “I…I got lost and I couldn’t find my way back.” Her pitiful little voice, coupled with her status as a first year, seemed to loosen Percy’s resolve.

“Well, alright then. But don’t let me catch you out like this again. You know,” Percy lowered his voice and looked quite grave. “Dangerous things are happening. Of course you wouldn’t know about them, but I do, seeing as I’m a prefect and Dumbledore trusts me implicitly.” He puffed his chest out with importance. Then he caught sight of that girl’s bag, which she had left in her haste to get away, and seemed to enter reality again.

“Now, um, I don’t want you to go and, er, tell people. About this. About, um, what you saw.” Percy seemed to think it necessary to make his point unmistakably clear.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about you and—was it Penelope?” Ginny tried to sound innocently curious.

“Um, yes. Penelope.” With an awkward nod, Percy sped from the room almost as quickly as his girlfriend had. And Ginny was left alone, feeling quite a bit better after this unexpected discovery.

Being the youngest in a family of seven—and being the only girl—certainly wasn’t the best position to be in, but now she had a bit of leverage to work with. All too soon did she forget about her strange loss of time, and she refused to dwell on the question of how she had gotten to that passage in the first place. Of course by the end of the year she had her answers, but even the memory of being used as a tool of the most feared Dark wizard of all time hadn’t persuaded her to give up her secret tunnel.

\---

Over the last three years Ginny had come to the tunnel whenever she felt as though the world was getting to be too much. No one, not even Filch, seemed to know of its existence and after her first few explorations she’d amassed quite a large collection of secrets. For instance, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team used the room that she had discovered Percy and Penelope in for confidential team meetings, discussing new tactics and plays. That room was also used by Professors Flitwick and Sprout for something that Ginny could only describe as racing. They would choose objects from around the room and place different Charms on them, sending them flying about. Ginny wasn’t sure how they determined who won, since the objects seem to travel decidedly haphazard, but it looked like loads of fun.

She had also seen several couples make use of the room in a similar manner to Percy. She gave the passageway credit for her rather startling level of maturity, because among those couples there had been not only the typical boy and girl variety but also pairs of boys and pairs of girls, though she couldn’t have placed names with robed backs. She had never chanced upon two professors, for which she always counted herself immensely lucky.

Once she had come across Malfoy, sans lackeys, muttering to the room at large. It had been earlier that year, after Draco was publicly humiliated by a professor—which he naturally blamed Harry for—and Ginny had been rather surprised to see him without his entourage of goons. Because she couldn’t risk detection she was unable to make out much of what he said, but she did distinctly hear the phrases ‘worthless half-blood, thinks he knows everything and shoves it in your face any chance he gets’ and ‘ridiculously feminine looking, makes me feel like I’m fighting a girl’. If Malfoy was talking about Harry, as Ginny suspected, she knew for a fact that the latter statement was entirely untrue. Harry was not imposing in figure or speech, but Malfoy’s own sharp features seemed much more effeminate than Harry’s. At one point he conjured something—something that looked disturbingly like a miniature misty likeness of Harry—but was interrupted before he could do whatever it was he had been planning. Professor Snape walked in, stopping short at the sight of a student, and then told Malfoy to leave in a rather snappish way. Ginny had thought it in her best interest to leave as well; the thought of being caught by Snape was even less inviting than the thought of being caught by Malfoy.

So it came to be that if there was a secret at Hogwarts Ginny more than likely knew it, or at least was able to make a very educated guess.

That particular night of the Ball she had just reached the torches when she heard voices. Two voices, to be exact. Two voices that she knew altogether too well. Ginny mentally chided herself for not anticipating this.

“You know, with the Ball tonight Filch is going to have more spare time to skulk about. I bet he’s just itching for a detention.” Rather than sounding apprehensive, the voice sounded exceptionally pleased.

“Right you are. Filch can’t stand this much happiness. He’s like a dementor, just sucks the fun out of life.” This voice sounded just as pleased as the first, with a hint of smugness in its tone.

“Well, you must admit that we give him a run for his miserable little soul.”

“Of course we do. Filch knows that without us he is nothing. Reduced to a hall watch, he’ll be. He thrives on our trouble.”

“Of which we are more than willing to give.” This statement was met with a small noise of agreement.

“I’ll miss him when we leave.” The voice was wistful, and Ginny knew that if she rounded on them she would see a face screwed up in mock nostalgia. There was a pause, and past experience told her that a moment of silence was being observed for a worthy adversary.

“Well my dear brother, the good news lies in the fact that wherever we go there will always be someone who’ll make it his or her life’s goal to break us of our ill ways.”

“Such a bright future to look forward to.”

Ginny had often wondered whether her older twin brothers had actually needed the rest of the family to get on. As it was all they seemed to do for Mrs. Weasley was drive her up the walls. Of course if Ginny herself was ever in a bind—a bind that they had not put her in to begin with—they would be alongside all her other brothers in helping her out of it. As for her father and the rest of the boys, they had always been secondary. To the twins everyone was secondary after each other.

She used to feel sad at the thought of them not really having other friends, but as the years went by they seemed to prefer their mutual company more and more. And now with this joke store scheme of theirs it was starting to seem—Ginny would never tell her mother this—that Fred and George were quite brilliant. The things they came up with; she knew that the other students were just as impressed as they were amused. Undoubtedly it was another nosebleed candy or trick wand they were working out now. Ginny could not believe she had overlooked the fact that those two obviously knew about her special tunnel; it only made sense since they knew about every other bit of Hogwarts.

“What a terrible hassle this Ball is.” The wistful tone had vanished; the voice now sounded equally annoyed and bemused. “I almost wish we could have just spent vacation at home.”

“At least there are only seven of us at the Burrow.” The other twin seemed slightly more aggrieved. Ginny listened harder trying to distinguish Fred from George. “Nine if Charlie and Bill ever decide to grace us with their overworked presence.”

“But then there is the issue of nine of us in the Burrow. And dad is on holiday most of the time, so everyone is actually inside the house.”

“I think that the person to square metre ratio at this school is quite on par with home. And,” Ginny was almost certain that this was George speaking, “we know how to hide at the Burrow.”

“We know how to hide at Hogwarts as well, George.” Fred sounded as though he was attempting to lecture his twin, without success.

“True. Too true. And of course Hogwarts has what the Burrow never will.” George paused for what Ginny knew to be cheap dramatic effect. “No mum.”

“Our dear Mum. I expect she’ll be just as relieved when we get out of here as Filch will be. Maybe more.”

“Well, when we are filthy rich we’ll send her and dad to some wizard resort, won’t we?”

“Our treat.”

“A sort of retribution fund.”

“For the magically scarred parent.” Fred finished one of their impossibly intricate private battles of wit. The rest of the family had learned long ago to just let them run with it; trying to stop them was like trying to stop an angry troll—they’d step right over you.

“I honestly didn’t think we’d get a chance until after the Ball. Maybe not even until classes started again.” Fred’s voice held a sort of uncertain eagerness that Ginny had only heard when they were plotting some new and more awful product to market.

“Yeah, I didn’t either. What with the whole school staying over vacation.” George sounded thoroughly put out. “But we failed to consider how preoccupied this silly dance has got everyone.”

“Even Angelina’s getting into it.” Fred sounded mildly surprised. “Told me not to bring any jokes in my dress robes, and not to step on her feet when we dance.”

“Well that doesn’t matter.” George spoke as though that sort of reaction was bizarre. “I’ve got enough room in my robes for jokes for the both of us.”

“I considered telling her that. But, you know her. I thought she might hex our pockets or something.”

“She probably would.” Ginny was sure they were both glaring ominously at the idea.

“Oh well, even if she keeps me in line for the Ball I can still have a bit of fun before hand. Don’t you agree?”

“Without hesitation.”

This statement seemed to settle a matter between them. Ginny could see their manic minds at work already, savoring what little time they got away from the rest of the school.

Only they weren’t completely away because their little sister was taking in every word of their conversation, pulling out any useful and possibly damaging bits.

For several seconds Ginny could not make out any clear words. Every now and then she thought she caught a muffled murmuring that indicated her brothers were deep in concentration. Then suddenly a loud pop filled the passage, causing Ginny to gasp with shock. Luckily it sounded like it had been a wand malfunction, and in the confusion that followed her presence went undetected.

After a minute or so of scrambling one of them spoke, in a slightly breathless voice. “We should probably take off our robes. Wouldn’t want something catching on fire again.”

 _Again_? Ginny mouthed the word to the blank stone wall.

“Yes, that wasn’t a particularly fun day. Trying to explain those burns to Madam Pomfrey.”

“She believed our explanation, though. About the bewitched cauldron in the kitchens.”

“At least she believed most of it.”

A flutter of fabric came from around the corner. With a thud the cloth hit the ground. Ginny imagined what her mother would say to the twins tossing their robes about on dirt floors.

A strained silence fell again. There were a few sharp breaths and Ginny fought the urge to peek at their newest creation. Then suddenly:

“Ouch! Oi, that hurts! Honestly Fred, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“You’ve never told me that hurts! In fact, the last time we tried it I distinctly remember you kept saying how much you enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t say I enjoyed that! Who would enjoy that? I’ll do it to you and see how much you enjoy it now…uh, okay, that’s better then.” George’s voice fell from a shout to almost a whisper.

Ginny had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was sure Fred and George were working up new jokes, only…only this didn’t sound like a conversation about jokes. She wasn’t naïve enough to think it was.

 _I should look_ , Ginny thought reasonably. She really only needed a peek. Because if she didn’t look then she would start to imagine all kinds of things—and not the sort of things that her brothers would be doing—and it would be quite embarrassing to get all these ideas and find out they had only been testing a new type of fireworks.

Of course, what would happen if she turned the corner and saw something else entirely? Would she be able to look her brothers in the eye after that? What about Ron, what would she tell him? And her parents…things could get really bad. Better she stay where she was, or leave the tunnel completely, and tell herself that she didn’t care to know what was going, exactly.

The only problem was that the Weasleys were never very good at containing their curiosity. Look at her father, spending his life fawning over Muggle gadgets. Charlie couldn’t get enough of dragons, and now he was tracking them for a living. And Fred and George—the standard for curiosity unmanaged—spent their days getting in and out of trouble. So Ginny found it extremely difficult to just turn and go, and even to stay where she was seemed hard now that she had those unanswered questions poking about her mind.

Just one peek. That was all she would take. And then she would go, and leave those two to whatever it was they were doing. Ginny took a fortifying breath and shut her eyes, determined to see the scene at once and in full, and thus avoid the whole process of inching into view.

 _My brothers are snogging._ That was Ginny’s first thought. And it was funny because, even though this was almost precisely what she had been picturing in her mind, it still didn’t seem to be quite real. It wasn’t right either, because they weren’t really snogging. Fred—whose striped shirt Ginny recognized from its uncountable previous wears—had George pinned against the wall. Something that looked like two rats were crawling under George’s sweater; Ginny realized that they were Fred’s hands. George’s eyes were closed and his lips were twisted in an oddly pensive way. Fred’s head was moving slowly, up from his brother’s neck to his earlobe. Ginny watched him nip at George’s jaw like she had watched Crookshanks nip at Hermione’s fingers. George’s arms wound tighter, forcing Fred closer against him. That same muttering murmur came again from George’s mouth and Ginny couldn’t decide if he knew that he was making noise or not.

Without any apparent pause in the situation George pulled Fred’s head away from his chin. Now Ginny could say with absolute honesty that her brothers were indeed snogging. It was strange watching them. Ginny could not think of one thing—apart from certain curses that she had only heard spoken of in frightened whispers—that was so very wrong. Still…watching them she found herself entranced. If it weren’t for their shirts she wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart; they were no longer like two separate people. Ginny felt as though she was watching some narcissistic dance. They knew each other like they knew themselves. That was something Ginny had understood, even before she realized it. As she continued to stare George began to duplicate for Fred what Fred had been doing to him.

Ginny did not leave like she swore she would. She ignored the voice that kept repeating _They are brothers. They are_ **your** _brothers._ That Fred and George had never shown interest in seriously pursuing girlfriends, or friends in general—with the exception of Lee Jordan who Ginny knew had been chosen for his talents in all matters mischievous—now made a type of mad sense. That they had never fought against each other or shown the slightest inclination to not spend the rest of their lives in one another’s company; it was all leading up to this point. Their self-sufficiency was not sufficiency at all. They could no more split apart than Ginny could willingly part with one of her limbs. Something deep ran between them, and that was what made this whole situation—in spite of everything else—exceptionally right.

“Damn, I forgot it!” Fred’s sudden exclamation roused Ginny from her more lofty musings. George, who until just now had been running his tongue around Fred’s ear, pulled back and watched his brother rummage through his trouser pockets. After a moment he began to search his own pockets with a dazed look still on his face.

“Fucking hell, I could’ve sworn that I’d taken it with me! Lee must’ve been distracting me or something…” Fred continued to shove his hands in and out of the pockets, but he seemed grudgingly certain that he’d left whatever it was he couldn’t find behind.

“It’s not in the robes, is it?” George looked anxious, which was a rare thing in and of itself. He went to prod the pile of fabric on the ground, shaking it and then sifting through the dislodged contents. Ginny saw Sneakoscopes, a multitude of various colored candies, a scarf that looked unnervingly like a snake, a couple of buttons that she knew sent out Confounding Spells, and a few other odds and ends. None of this, however, seemed to be what George was searching for. He looked utterly crestfallen, the same as when Mrs. Weasley confiscated a particularly promising joke.

“We could do a Summoning Spell…” George had already begun to frantically untangle his wand from the mass of robes.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter!” Fred glowered with frustration and strode over to his twin, pulling him sharply up from the ground by the elbow.

“Oi!” George didn’t have time to say much else. Fred had caught him between the wall and his own body.

“We don’t have to do that now. We can probably get away early tonight. Everyone will be busy in the Common Room and we can have the dormitory all to ourselves.”

“Fine. But stop crushing me. These aren’t the greenhouse walls with all that ivy. No cushioning whatsoever.” George made to rub the back of his thigh.

“What are you complaining about? It wasn’t you who got caught in that Escapeless Vine. I had welts for weeks.” Fred winced with recollection.

“I know you did.” George’s smile was perfectly evil. “Had to think of a bloody good story for Sprout as to why her plant was mangled.”

“But she believed it.”

“Most of it, anyway.”

At some point during their reminiscence George’s hand had fallen to the front of Fred’s trousers. It was only his fumbling with the buttons that alerted Ginny. This, she decided, was too much. She turned back around the corner and stared at the black wall opposite her. If she thought that closing her eyes would stop her ears from burning she would have done it.

“Here now, what’re you doing?”

“S’not my fault! I can’t manage this button—”

“That’s cause you’re pulling at it like it’s a knot! You can’t just go around yanking things like that. Mum said she can’t afford to replace any more ‘magically altered’ clothes.”

“Not like we get new clothes anyway. There it is!” All movement seemed to cease long enough for George to feel pleased with himself for conquering a pair of trousers.

“Took you long enough. Entirely useless without a wand, aren’t you?” George ignored Fred’s comment completely.

“How Muggles live without magic every day I can’t begin to understand.”

“You only have to look at the lot of them to see they’re unbalanc…” Fred stopped abruptly and made a noise like he had a cold and was trying to clear his throat.

“George?” Fred sounded like he couldn’t quite breathe right. “George, your hand is cold.” He made another noise, a dulled moan that told Ginny he was probably biting his lip.

“Well, everything is cold in this tunnel.” George’s voice had dropped an octave, sounding much huskier than Ginny had ever heard. “Here.” A soft scraping noise started—palms being rubbed together. “Is that better?”

“Ungh.” Fred’s voice cracked a little. “Yeah, much better. Thanks.”

Their breathing increased until it seemed to fill the passage. Moans and noises from the back of their throats became louder. Ginny’s heart was beating a painfully fast rhythm against her ribs.

“Faster, George!” Fred sounded much less in control than he ever had. “No, not that fast…just a bit. Yeah, there. That’s really good, right there.” His voice was noticeably shaking.

Suddenly Fred gave a yelp and George started snickering.

“Does Angelina know how sensitive your ears are?”

Fred didn’t answer. He was moaning louder still, and Ginny had convinced herself that there was a whole class on the other side of these walls listening to their every noise.

“Unnn…George….George…I’m nearly…Ahhh…” Fred almost sounded like he was in pain. His disjointed sentence reached a pitch, and then he was making a sound like he had been punched in the stomach over and over. Finally he was taking in shuddering gasps of air, and eventually he seemed to be able to stop hyperventilating.

George muttered something—it sounded to Ginny like ‘best thing in the world’—and then the quiet murmuring started; they were snogging again. Ginny wondered whether it was safe to go back out the way she came and return to school from the lawns.

“Your turn.” Fred’s voice only retained the slightest quaver. Ginny froze, half-dreading half-anticipating this second act. “Since you were good enough to get McGonagall off our backs this morning I think a treat is in order. So which would you prefer?”

The pause felt oddly short. “Hand.”

“Really?”

“Well, I would say mouth, but then I’d feel a bit undersold on my own services.”

“But I said it’d be a treat.”

“I’ll keep it then, for later.” George added, with a hint of not-so-subtle suggestion. “Perhaps after the Ball. If you can get away from Angelina then I’ll owe you as well, and we can make a night of it. We’ll have the stuff then anyway.”

This seemed to suit Fred just find. “Right then. Now let’s see if I have more talent with Muggle fastenings than you do.”

Judging by the lack of protest Fred did indeed seem to be able to deal with buttons better than George.

Much faster than it seemed to be with Fred, George’s breathing became erratic and strained.

“Don’t bite my ear. It’s distracting me.”

“Then stopping halfing it, eh?”

“I don’t want to cut off blood circulation, do I?”

“If you don’t stop halfing it I will take care of matters myself.” This seemed to put the issue to rest, because after half a minute of George growling through his teeth continuously he started up with a new set of complaints.

“Uh, Fred wait! That’s too hard…no you’re not hurting me, it’s just that…it’s too fast…oh, I can’t control…it’s going to start too soon—” With that all motion halted. George seemed momentarily too stunned for words. Then an agitated sigh escaped from him.

“You can’t just go back to this. It’s too slow and too loose. Nothing is going to get done this way.”

“But you said it was too fast before.” Fred’s obvious smirk seeped into his voice.

“A happy medium; that’s what I was looking for.”

“Well then you should have said so.”

Once again George began to swallow hard and repeat what could have been the first syllable of ‘adore’ with increasing strength. Just as that litany approached a peak the motion stopped again. This time it left a whimpering George in its wake. A thick silence clouded the air.

“Fred.” Whether this was a question or a plea, Ginny couldn’t guess. But it sounded so pitiful that she actually felt sorry for her brother.

She didn’t need to though. That word must have been code, because a hoarse shout pierced the chilled atmosphere.

“Ah! Fr-Fred! Fred! Ah! Fred! Ahhh!” There was a release in that last cry that made Ginny shiver. What followed was nothing more than George’s pants, and Fred murmuring, “ _Purgio!_ ”

It was odd—after what she had just heard—to turn the corner and see her brothers again. The torches seemed to have dimmed by themselves, and in the eerie half-light the twins looked even more like strangers.

Fully clothed and lacking all signs of the mess she knew they had made, they were clinging to each other, eyes shut tightly, as if savoring some final delicacy. Their bodies were shaking a bit with the remnants of sexual tension. Ginny felt herself shaking as well, and refused to consider why.

“I love you.”

Ginny couldn’t distinguish between the voices; they were different and yet utterly the same. And she didn’t have time to analyze it further because with that the two bodies drew apart once more and went to collect their robes and various jokes off the dirt floor. Then they were making their way to the door as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. As they reached the entrance back into the classroom they paused, and Ginny strained to hear what was said.

“Step on Angelina’s feet once, will you Fred? Just once. For me.”

\---

At the Ball each time Neville squashed one of her own toes Ginny glanced over towards her brothers. Fred and Angelina were dancing in a rather spastic way, and George was chatting animatedly with Lee and a couple of sixth year girls. But once—and only once—did their eyes meet across the room, and as Ginny looked back at Neville’s overly large shoes she distinctly heard Angelina yell:

“Oi, Fred! Watch it! You nearly took my toe off!”

Ginny smiled down at her own rapidly swelling feet.

\---

“Ron, just because you can’t go for two minutes without making a fool of yourself in front of Fleur Delacour doesn’t mean that every boy is like that!” Hermione was sitting with her legs folded under her, looking even more cross than before.

“What’s Fleur Delacour got to do with anything?” Ron was looking just as cross; his cheeks were burning a sharp red. “You’re the one who seems to have a problem with her, always dragging her into arguments!”

“As if you don’t do the exact same thing with Viktor!” Harry hadn’t spoken for several turns, and looked as if he was trying to decide if he could make a clean run for the boy’s dormitory.

“Oh, don’t even get me started on Krum! You two!” Ron’s next several hundred sentences would have been a point by point breakdown of why Viktor Krum was the worst person alive if Fred and George hadn’t started across the room, clutching an official looking stuffed envelope and grinning in an incredibly smug way.

“Us?” Fred replied amiably. “What’ve we got to do with Krum?”

“It’s you that’s got the problem, Ron.” George nodded sagely. “It’s not our fault that you don’t get on with Hermione’s boyfriend.”

“Good choice by the way, Hermione.”

“Yeah, Quidditch World Cup hero. And I hear he writes some simply beautiful letters.” Both the twins winked lecherously at Hermione, who seemed too flustered to speak. Then they turned and headed off to the dormitory, bidding Harry and Ginny good night as they passed. Ron shot daggers at their backs as they disappeared up the staircase.

“He-he’s not my boyfriend.” That Hermione didn’t sound all that convincing didn’t help quell Ron’s rage.

“Someday!” He began with a shrill sort of shriek. “Someday those two will meet people crazy enough to give them a go! And then they will understand!” Ron’s eyes were so wide that he looked like he’d just watched a horde of spiders enter through the portrait hole. When it appeared that he could find nothing more to add to this, he threw himself back into the chair and crossed his arms in a way that dared someone to talk to him. Harry and Hermione glanced cautiously at him, and then proceeded to carefully return to the issue of the second task.

From her chair Ginny went back to pretending to read her book. Unfortunately for Ron, his day of vindication would never come. And Ginny knew the reason; she knew the secret.

Fred and George already understood more than Ron would ever give them credit for.


End file.
